


Suspiro

by Archadian_Skies



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Mutual Pining, Original Percival Graves Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 17:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9247334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archadian_Skies/pseuds/Archadian_Skies
Summary: Five times Percival Graves had her back and the one time Seraphina Picquery didn’t have his.





	

She should be used to this, she thinks, now that it’s her fourth December blanketed by snow. She should be, but she isn’t.

Massachusetts is a far cry from Savannah, and Seraphina thinks winter will catch her off guard every year no matter how hard she attempts to acclimatize. 

It’s Tuesday in her week two cycle, and Potions class is blessedly over; she excels at many a subject, but Potions is not one of them. With a free period before her next class, Seraphina takes to wandering the courtyard to fill her lungs with icy sharp air in the hopes of keeping her concentration sharp.

A small gaggle of students stand in a haphazard circle, taking it in turns to attempt casting a spell. She recognizes one of them instantly; Percival Graves.

He’s in his second year, all thick black brows and a steely frown. In his hand he wields an almost comically long wand that seemed much too big for him, much too like the shoes he has to fill. It must be hard, Seraphina thinks, attending a school where your ancestor’s portrait hangs in one of the halls.

She remembers his sorting ceremony, watching from up on high as he stepped onto the Gordian Knot. His feet had barely touched the center point before the Wampus reared up on its hind legs and roared; the latest Heir of the House of Graves was to be a warrior. 

Her own sorting had been far livelier and she is, as people still told her, the first in this generation to have all four houses offer her placement. She still hears their voices in her dreams, as if their words were etched into the very marrows of her bones, coaxing her to join them.

_I will teach you to harness the fire burning in your veins._

She chose the Horned Serpent, and in return the bayou chose her in the form of a Beauvais wand with a powerful core that intimidated most wizards and witches. It would need unwavering control, her Charms professor had told her, for if it senses doubt it will take to the Dark Magic it is so fond of.

Seraphina is not one to waver.

“ _Expecto patronum!”_  One of the other students shout, thrusting their wand out. To no avail. “What am I doing wrong?”

“This is pointless, we’ve been trying for half an hour!” Another student sighs in frustration, kicking a bit of snow with their shoe. “Come on, let’s get going. We’ll be late for Herbology.”

“Yeah, come on Percy!”

She watches in amusement as Percival presses his mouth into a tight line at the nickname. 

“I’m gonna try for a little longer, you guys go ahead.” He waves them off as they protest, but eventually leave. She doesn’t know why she approaches him, but she’s standing in his line of sight before she realizes.

“Are you thinking of your happiest memory?” He tenses at her tone, as if she were scolding a child.

“Of course I am.”

“Then you’re doing it wrong.” Seraphina takes out her wand, unable to suppress the shiver the core pulses up her arm. “You can’t just _think_  of your happiest memory. You have to feel it, as if you were living that memory right at this second.”

He draws his brows together in concentration, taking a deep breath before raising his wand up and shouting the incantation.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

Nothing. He suppresses his frustration well enough, but she can see it in the way his thick brows furrow.

“Find clarity in the chaos of your thoughts, Percival.” She recites the words of her Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. “It’s like reaching into water: it’s easier if the water is still.”

She won’t pretend it’s easy; she’s never really had to perform this spell outside of class but there’s something determined and hungry in his gaze that reminds her of herself. The first step is to breathe calmly, and even that is difficult when each breath pulls knife-sharp cold into her lungs.

Percival watches her closely, intensely, and she’s reminded of a hawk with his straight brows and long nose. She can’t concentrate and a mild pang of embarrassment worms its way under skin.

 _Breathe_.

The boy moves, coming around her instead and the next moment his back is pressed to hers. She feels his shoulders move slightly as he draws breath and exhales and it’s a soothing, rhythmic pattern, one that balances him and grounds her. 

Closing her eyes she slows her breathing, and reaches into her memories to pull out the brightest, bubbliest one. She’s no longer in the courtyard on Mount Greylock, there’s no longer powder soft snow dusting her hair, her lashes, no biting cold in her lungs.

It’s a hot summer’s day in Savannah and the air is thick with the smell of food and sounds of laughter. It’s her eleventh birthday and her _gramma_ has her arms around her, marveling at the letter she has in her hands.

“Look at that, Phina.” Her voice is mellow and scratched with age but it’s the loveliest sound. “A witch just like me, hm?”

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

The tip of her wand erupts into a spectacular burst of light and a phoenix rises to soar above them. A heartbeat later a wispy panther chases after it. She can feel Percival laughing in delight, his back still pressed to hers.

“You’re well on your way, Percival.” She can’t help but share in his exhilarated laughter. “I’m Seraphina Picquery.”

“Thank you, Seraphina.” The panther patronus vanishes along with her phoenix. He straightens his back and squares his shoulders. “I’m going to be an Auror.”

“Like your father? And your father’s father and so on, just like Gondolphus Graves?” She doesn’t mean the deprecating laugh that follows, but she can't imagine the weight of an entire lineage resting on her shoulders. He tenses behind her again, his breath catching.

“Like my _mother_ , she carried the Graves name before me.” Percival corrects. “Auror Gwendolyn Graves. I’m going to be an Auror Graves like my mother before me.”

“I’m going to be President. First of my name.” Seraphina says it, and she will make it so. “Keep up, Percival Graves.”

There's a pause and she can almost hear the thoughts in his head as he mulls it over. It's not an offer for friendship, no, but it can be something similar.

“I’ll be right behind you, Madame President.” 

* * *

 

(find me on [tumblr](http://archadianskies.tumblr.com))

 


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